Page 5 of Shaped By Darkness

The thought makes my eyes fill with tears that I don’t bother to try and choke back; it’s not as if he cares. No, my Lyle hated when I cried, but the beast standing before me couldn’t care less.

“Lyle, please.” My voice cracks with a sob that I can’t hold back as I finally take a step toward him, despite knowing I might push him to attack—or worse, to run away—and once again be lost to me.

Neither happens, though. Instead, I watch as his eyes change from that horrible white that makes him look like some kind of zombie animal before shifting back to the beautiful hazel color I know to be his. The same eyes I’ve found comfort in and been scolded by for years.

It only lasts a moment, but that’s all I need.

I snap awake, filled with the sensation of falling, only to realize that I am. At the last second, I catch myself on the edge of the hospital bed Sol lies in, righting myself on the chair.

Lyle’s still in there, somewhere.

I don’t know how to help him, but I’ll figure it out.

I won’t give up on him.

I can’t.

Something feels different than it did when I fell asleep, and I find myself taking stock of the room. We should be safe here, but I’m not sure I believe that anymore.Nowherefeels safe.

Pike still lies at my feet as a huge fur blanket. He hasn’t shifted back since Sol got hurt, and I can't bring myself to mind; his wolf has always comforted me. The door is still closed, the dinner tray remains untouched on the table next to the bed, and Sol still lies unmoving…

Except he's not completely unmoving.

“Sol?” My voice is nothing more than a breath, but his eyes, which have been closed since we brought him back to the castle, flutter before he turns his head toward me. I can’t stop the whimper that rips out of me as his beautiful green eyes find mine.

I’m moving before I can think better of it. Practically tripping over Pike, who lies at my feet, as I stumble onto the bed. The bed isn’t huge by any means, hardly enough room for him, but I manage to get my legs under me and sit beside him.

His eyes don't leave mine as he follows my movement. It’s not until I’m damn near on top of him that I realize I have no idea what to say.

My mind whirls because there's so much I could say, probably should say, but I can’t decide where to start. Opening my mouth, I let whatever feels right fall out of my mouth.

“I missed you.” It’s but true, but it feels a bit silly in the face of his possible death, and my cheeks heat. Apparently, almost losing someone makes me lose any game I might have thought I had. Though, thinking back on all my time with the guys so far, I’m not sure I ever had any to begin with.

“Serena?” Sol blinks hard, his eyes unfocusing before they focus again, and I see something in his eyes that I’ve never seen from him before.

Desire.

Sol is usually quiet, kind, and intelligent. That’s not to say he can’t be all those things, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of a look like that from him. Hell, until recently, I didn’t even know I wanted to be, but with the way his gaze makes me feel right now, there’s no denying it.

He pushes up on his elbow before his face twists in pain, and he falls back down onto the pillow.

“Fuck,” he groans through clenched teeth, his hand reaching to cover the still healing wound on his side. I reach out, covering his hand with my own as worry spikes through me, making my heart race.

“Don’t try to get up. You’re still recovering.” I try to sound firm, demanding, but my voice comes out soft and almost pleading.

“Hey,” Sol reaches out his hand, finding mine where it’s fisted in the bedsheet beside him. He untangles my fingers before wrapping his around my own, and something settles inside me.

Sol's alive. He might still be recovering, but he’s alive, and for a moment there, that was more than I dared dream. Not with the way things had been going.

“Serena, look at me.” It's not until he says something that I realize I'm not. My eyes are trained on the bed near his shoulder. It's easier somehow not to look directly at him, not to see the damage that he’s facing just from simply being close to me.

He tugs my hand, pulling me down to his chest, and I just barely catch myself before I slam into him, bracing my hands on the bed on either side of his head.

Leaving us eye to eye and damn near nose to nose.

His hand comes up to brush some of my hair behind my ear, hardly even ghosting over my skin, but somehow, it's enough to leave me reeling.

For what feels like the millionth time this week, tears run down my face, hot and fast, before I have a chance to stop them. It would be embarrassing if I thought he would judge me, but I know he won't.

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